


Eddie x You: The Sitcom

by LoneMasque



Category: Eddie Gluskin - Fandom, Outlast, Whistleblower - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, FTM, Horror, M/M, Other, Transsexual, outlast - Freeform, whistleblower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2730947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoneMasque/pseuds/LoneMasque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Waylon Park, but it used to be Wendy, so a certain scene in Whisteblower goes very differently...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of The End of The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a comedy/action/horror/sex/thing. I wouldn't have made it, but I kept thinking up jokes. There's a part with the twins... Anyway, I apologize for everything. Enjoy!

You opened the borrowed laptop on your makeshift desk. Your hands were still shaking from the horrifying events earlier that afternoon.

Or maybe it was that morning. It was impossible to keep track of time underground and away from the sun. Murkoff woke you up at any hour, any day, to work on the damn Engine.

You had such high hopes for that thing, too. They’d told you it was a machine that could literally see into the human mind; what they were thinking, feeling, even dreaming. They talked about healing mental illnesses, rehabilitating the criminally insane, and curing PTSD.

What could be better for humanity? You’d immediately left your other job (that only paid a _few_ thousand dollars less) and practically broke down their door to get a look at it, to be a part of something so great in even the smallest way…

And then everything went wrong.

***

**6 hours earlier…**

“Say fellas, I was wondering,” you said to your two coworkers, “Who do we issue complaints to?”

“HAHAHAHAHA!” “I don’t remember ever being that naïve,” said Cooper and Graham respectively. Cooper survived by finding humor in every situation, and Graham was a man who hated himself, his life, and everyone in it.

“See, complaints go to your supervisor, and he sends them to his supervisor, and those get sent to You-Know-Who,” said Cooper once he was done laughing.

“Oh god, not Blaire,” you groaned.

“Pretty sure he wipes his ass with them,” said Graham, taking a sip from his coffee cup labeled COFFEE (“It’s ironic!”).

You didn’t doubt it. “That man’s a snake in human skin,” you snarled. Blaire had been there to greet you when you first arrived. He’d made it very clear he was smarter, richer, and better-looking than you, and your relationship had only soured ever since.

“Now that’s not very nice,” Cooper chastised. “Snakes are deeply misunderstood creatures. Most of them make great pets!”

“What happened? Did a patient hurt you?” Graham asked. “You know our insurance doesn’t cover shit down here.”

You shook your head. “No, no one, uh… no one _hurt_ me…” You could feel the blood rushing to your face.

Graham sighed. “Oh. You too, huh? Who did it?”

It depressed you how easily they understood what happened. You were hoping once you became a man that other men would leave you alone, or at least be more tentative when hitting on you.

Not the case.

“One of Blaire’s goons, the big security guard. Nothing terrible, just… you know, grabbed my ass. Again,” you muttered.

“Sorry, kid. You’re kind of his type,” Cooper said, shrugging. “But hey, at least it wasn’t a patient! They’d tear you to pieces! I keep telling you to hit the gym, man! You’re too skinny!”

You weren't sure which was worse: that this was a more prevalent problem than you thought, or their utter nonchalance towards it. Still, what could you do? Demand they be more offended?

“Eh, they couldn’t catch me,” you said with a wry grin. “I’m a runner, not a lifter. Besides, I’m too scared to work out anymore. I told him to fuck off. Now he hates me, and that guy is _always_ lifting.”

“Way to pick your enemies,” Graham said. “There’s no way he’ll be punished. Just hide in a locker. That’s what I do.”

“Really? I do that whenever the printer breaks,” Cooper confessed.

They had no idea how much pressure you were already under. You had to time using the bathroom and taking a shower so you could do it alone. With all these lonely, pent-up men around you, you shuddered to think what they’d do if they found out your lower-half was still female (not that it took a vivid imagination to guess).

Removing your breasts had been a great relief, and easy enough. That, combined with testosterone, meant you were born male by all appearances. You’d talked about getting your phalloplasty with Lisa, but you both agreed that your options ranged from ‘OK’ to ‘NO WAY’.

Procedures for transsexuals were far and away from what they used to be, but they still weren’t adequate. It was part of the reason you paid so much attention to bioengineering, and why you were here. You’d never imagined it would mean lying, sneaking around, and being constantly paranoid in case of a slip-up.

You changed the subject.

“At least Murkoff has the decency to keep their people healthy. I think everyone here is bigger than me!”

Cooper coughed. He averted his eyes and didn’t make a joke.

Graham refilled his COFFEE cup. “The doctors give the patients, ahem, _hormonal therapy_. Probably steroids. Dollars to donuts the guards partake when they can.”

“Good god! Why!?” you blurted out.

“That way they handle ‘The Engine’ better,” Cooper explained, putting in spooky quotation marks and rolling his eyes. “Stupid thing’s driving us all crazy (heh). It breaks all the other machines, so of course _it_ keeps breaking _too_!”

“Our brilliance is both a gift and a curse,” Graham said without a hint of sarcasm.

You were shocked, but not as much as you wished you were. “They hop them up on drugs?! That’s… that’s terrible!”

“Don’t waste your sympathy,” Graham said. “I don’t pretend what we’re doing is good, but at least the guys we're experimenting on deserve it. You know we’ve got a serial killer in here? Edward something, I think.”

Cooper nearly spat out his drink. “Christ! You don’t mean Gluskin? Eddie Gluskin?”

“Who cares?” Graham said.

“Seriously? Wow! They made a movie about that guy!” Cooper said, almost jumping up and down.

You raised your eyebrows most skeptically indeed. “No way.”

“Yes fuckin’ way, man! It’s, ‘Tailor Of Terror: Here Comes The Blood!’ And it’s actually SO bad that it whips around the other side and comes out GREAT! Oh, oh, oh, we should see it!”

“Who would make a movie based on a real tragedy? Even loosely?” you objected. “I mean… that would be too wrong.”

“Awful,” Graham agreed. “Hmm… Maybe a video game…”

“Nah, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Cooper would not be denied. “No, guys, there’s like ghosts and shit. It jumps the shark in the first five minutes and only gets better. Come ooooon, there is nothing else to _do_ here.”

“Yeah, but good luck getting a DVD through security,” you said forlornly. All supplies that reached your base needed to be cleared and inspected and cleared again. That was annoying for most of the guys, but since only men were allowed so deep inside HQ, you couldn’t order in your testosterone shots. Unfortunately the result was your cycle would be returning soon, and that could be serious trouble.

You kept asking for time off to go topside, but all your requests were 'processing'. It didn't take a coder to figure out what that really meant.

If The Engine wasn’t a world-changing device, you would have stolen the elevator key and left the first day. Besides, obviously this place had its problems, but surely the results would be worth it... right?

Cooper got the expression you recognized when he was about to say something really crass. “Maybe I could give your boyfriend a blow job to speed things up. You know, take one for the team.”

“Cooper, _no_ ,” you said, glaring. “I’m married, remember?”

“I’m kidding, you lucky dog,” he said, nudging you. “We wouldn’t have half the trouble we do if they’d just let our lady friends play doctor with us (heh heh).”

He didn’t know the half of it. “Why don’t they let women in here?” you asked.

“We were hoping _you_ could enlighten _us_ , Mr. Level Three Clearance,” Cooper replied. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just tells us to shut up and how great he is. Anyways, I’m out of joe. See you losers later!” he said, leaving the break room.

Graham looked at you. The bags under his eyes must have mirrored yours. “I'd try to make you feel better about all this, but your only option is repression.”

“Uh—”

“Did I ever tell you about my childhood? I hope so, I'm having trouble remembering it.”

“...” You’d never wished your pager would go off more than you did at that moment.

Suddenly Cooper ran back and stood in the doorway. “THERE’S A GIANT IN THE HALL!” he screamed, pointing the way he’d come.

“Cooper, _NO_ ,” you said, going along with the joke, bizarre as it was. And then an orderly flew backwards through the hallway because he'd been punched by a giant.

You heard an inhuman roar and the red alarms started blaring. “SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH. ALL PERSONNEL SEEK COVER. ALL GUARDS HEAD TO SECTOR ALPHA. SECURITY BREACH.”

Cooper booked it and you leaped into the hall to try and follow, but you froze on the spot. A guard was firing his gun at some _thing_ that was charging at him. It’s face was bleeding and there were heavy chains around its ankles and wrists. Apparently they were insufficient at restraining it.

The bullets only made it mad and it grabbed the guard, holding him up by his throat. You wanted to help, but your legs wouldn’t move. 'DO SOMETHING!' you screamed at your body. 'LIKE WHAT?!' your brain screamed at you.

In a less than a few seconds that went in slow-motion, the giant grabbed the guard’s arm with his other hand and pulled. There was an awful tearing sound and the arm came off and there was blood everywhere, and then you were screaming and the guard was screaming and everyone was screaming except the giant who was hitting the guard with his own severed arm and yelling, “STOP HITTING YOURSELF! STOP HITTING YOURSELF!”

A group of guards came up behind you. One of them shoved you against the wall while the rest opened fire. The giant roared and threw their crippled comrade at them, downing three. “DON’T KILL HIM!” you heard Jeremy Blaire shout. “USE THE GAS! THE GAS!”

Obediently the guards put on masks and started tossing smoke grenades. You weren’t deemed important enough to get a mask of your own though, and as the hall started filling with green clouds, your world started swimming.

You lost your balance and strength. When the guard let you go, you fell to the floor. The giant was bellowing its rage and the guards were using tasers, turning the hallway into a thunderstorm. Through the haze, you saw Blaire stand over you. He grabbed you by your shirt and held you up so you were face-to-face.

“ _Not a word of this, you hear me?”_ he hissed, and then everything went dark.

***

Later, with your fingers poised over the keyboard, you wondered what Lisa would have said if she were there. Your firewall and secure contact were ready to go. Lisa knew a guy, Miles Upshur, a man who would give his liver to bring down Murkoff, but at the crucial moment you were hesitating. You had so much to lose; the most, in fact, of any employee! You would wind up jobless and bankrupt _if you were lucky!_

It would only take a little digging to find out you were different, or the simple removal of your pants. What would Blaire do to you then? Toss you to his boys? The patients?

…The patients… Graham was not exactly a paragon, but he had a point. Murkoff housed a lot of tormented souls, most of them violent. Would you throw everything away for men like _that?_ The thing that ripped off the guard’s arm? Or that, uh, Terrible Tailor Guy?

But what about the innocent few? If guards were molesting you, what was happening to them? You clutched your hair and shook your head, your doubt and moral compass spinning you in circles.

In that moment of confusion and fear, by some miracle a thought came to your mind clear as day.

The machine… The Engine. The only reason you put up with any of this. After what you’d seen—impossible to believe or articulate as it was—there was no way it was helping anyone. Hell, it could be a weapon! It must be!

You knew then exactly what Lisa would say. “Seriously, fuck those guys.”

You got it, babe. Time to blow the whistle.


	2. Cliffhanger

This. This was unbelievable. Unbelievable. Just—in every respect.

When you were born a boy in a girl’s body? That was unlucky. When every single person you loved and admired told you that becoming a man should not and could not be done? That was cruel.

When you signed on with Murkoff and it turned out to be run by assholes that isolated you from your family and got frisky with you and the patients? That was bullshit.

But THIS. Un. Fucking. Believable. You had no words. Except that one.

Immediately after sending a SECURE email to Mr. Upshur, you were caught by Jeremy Blaire. He volunteered you for the Morphogenic Engine Program and had his agent kick you into unconsciousness (and yes it was the guy who liked to grab your butt (guess he was pissed)).

Then a “““““““doctor””””””” strapped you to a chair, slapped you, _licked your face_ , and exposed you to The Engine. It felt like someone was drilling into your brain and a million fire ants started making a colony in there at the same time.

But, oh! It got worse! _So much worse!_ Your day hadn’t even STARTED yet!

Apparently The Engine had created a monster, some kind of shadow that ripped people to pieces or made them outright explode, which happened to the ill-fated sods in the cells next to you. The shadow spared you for some reason and you wriggled free of your restraints, taking the camera the orderlies were using to film your spiral into madness.

You figured you should record all this. For posterity. Also because it had night vision and that might be important later.

Another patient, somehow unfazed by this, opened your cell door and offered to “open you up and make you purr, pretty flower”.

You showed him what a 5-minute mile looked like.

Deeper inside… wherever you were, some patients were holding down a doctor and waving a knife in his face. There was nothing you could do; by the time you got around the plastic walls, they’d sliced him open top to bottom and were inviting you to have at it.

While you’d LOVE a knife, you weren’t so stupid as to take the only weapon around and expect to escape with it. There were 5 men in there and, as usual, they were all bigger and stronger than you. You declined as politely as you could and headed into a maze of containment units while trying to keep your stomach from escaping through your throat.

All the alarms and intercoms were going off. It looked like the power went out, so the base was relying on generators, turning the hallways into tunnels of flashing light. Every now and again you’d see a Murkoff employee scramble to lock themselves in their offices. A few ran to the nearest exit, which, _naturally_ , they locked behind them.

Crawling through the air vents—grateful for once that this place was constructed back when dinosaurs roamed the earth—you overheard a guard and a techie talking about a radio. You would get your hands on this radio and try to call for help!

But, BEFORE that, you would be chased by a charming fellow named Frank with a penchant for human flesh! Something of a culinary artist, Frank preferred his meat delicately cut into savory chunks with a handsaw. He chased you for a good two hours before you finally lost him, largely because you didn’t think to look up during your panicked sprinting.

Frank left only the finest minor lacerations on your forearms. You’d be able to appreciate the scars for the rest of your life if you managed to survive, a possibility with vanishingly low odds.

This was what karma did to you. This was how the universe rewarded you for doing the right thing, for risking everything and more to expose Blaire and his ilk…

Then again, maybe you deserved it. Maybe the wrongs committed by Murkoff had invoked some ancient god of vengeance, and _everyone_ involved—the executives, the guards, the patients that fueled the machine, even peons like you—needed to be punished.

You contemplated this while hiding in a locker. How long before you lost your mind completely? Maybe you should just stay in there. Maybe Miles was on his way. He’d take one look at the place, and then turn around, and then call the police, and then _everything would be fine._

A patient found you and, to your immeasurable surprise, willingly gave you bandages for your wounds. Just because you were bleeding and needed them. He had some to spare as his mouth and eyes were wrapped as well.

Moved by a random act of kindness from a man who had every reason to hate you, you took a moment to sit down, cry, and generally freak out about everything.

He put an arm around your shaking shoulders and said not to be scared. You were silky. You were his friend and you were so silky. Oh, and he had an itch in his brain and would you get it, please?

You sighed. It was almost funny in a terrible way. At least whoever he was, he genuinely wanted to help. He was another victim like you, and if you escaped, you’d have the power to help him back. That thought gave you the strength to dry your tears and stand.

Get to the radio. Tell your story. Save the patients from Murkoff. Take a really long, hot shower.

You warned your ‘friend’ about Frank, for all the good it did, and got back to your hopeless quest. After an eternity on your aching, bleeding feet, you found the radio. You fiddled with it and got it to sing. “Leadville 911, what is your emergency?” said a voice on the other end.

Your heart soared with relief, only to be instantly extinguished by Blaire wielding a baton. Where did he even come from!?

He smashed the radio and took a couple swings are your head for good measure. “Waylon Park. You couldn’t just…” he snarled, pinning you down and choking you. “You couldn’t just keep your mouth shut. You couldn’t just play along. But you’re done talking now—”

You kicked him off thanks to a surge of rage and adrenaline and bolted for the nearest door. “GET BACK HERE!” he yelled, hot on your heels.

Then both of you stopped. The giant who ripped off the guard’s arm earlier was taking up the whole hallway in front of you. “I’m here to help!” he said cheerfully.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEK!” you and Jeremy shrieked in unison, turning tail and running the other direction. Jeremy was ahead by a few feet. He threw his baton at you, but you ducked just in time. The weapon spun in the air and conked the giant in what was left of his face. He didn’t appreciate it.

Blaire ran through a door and slammed it behind him. You jiggled the handle, but it was no good. The giant thundered towards you and you could see his hands were more like blood-covered claws. Luckily the hall continued to your left and ended at a window. Hoping not to die from the fall, you leaped through it before he could gut you.

You landed hard on concrete with your feet and one knee, but you were all right. You hadn’t been too high off the ground. From what you could see through the fog, you’d landed in a small courtyard outside.

The giant tried to get to you, only to get stuck halfway through the window. He roared and fought and clawed, but he was thoroughly caught by his enormous belly.

For some reason, you were compelled to record his enraged flailing. You tried not to be smug.

You failed spectacularly.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Too fast for you, tubby?”

“God damn it,” he said, letting his huge arms fall. “Come here, little pig.”

“Very funny, _Shrek!_ ” you taunted, just out of reach. “Why are you trying to kill me!? What did I ever do to you?!”

 _‘Besides help run the machine that turned you into this?’_ your conscience added helpfully.

He took a deep breath and let out an aggravated sigh, staring at you as though you were a petulant child. His eyes were almost all white and his forehead was sort of missing. When he spoke it looked painful and he gasped for breath often. “Too late to make it sleep. It sees in your blood. I’ll help you end it,” he said.

“Hmm, let me think about it, _NO_ ,” you replied.

“You’re scared. We’re all scared. We’re not crazy, the words are crazy, but we have to contain it.”

“…Contain what?” you asked, zooming in.

“He means Walrider,” said an oddly soothing voice behind you. You gasped and turned around, bringing your camera with you automatically.

This brought two of the biggest, ugliest, nakedest twins you’d ever seen into focus. They were carrying large knives and were covered with dried blood. Everything about them was threatening down to their broken teeth. Their stare was different from the giant’s or Frank’s; it was colder, more calculated.

For the moment they stood still while regarding you, perhaps wary of the giant’s claws.

“What’s a Walrider?” you asked, your voice quiet and high-pitched.

“New guy,” said one, grinning. “Fresh meat,” said the other. “Good thing he came to us.” “We’re experts.” “So many methods of teaching.” “Hard to choose just one.”

They looked at the man stuck in the window. He resumed his struggles and the wooden frame was starting to give.

“We have bigger problems.” “Walker.” “He’ll take away all our fun.” “We should reward our friend for bringing him down on us.” “I concur.”

Should have figured you wouldn’t get an answer. You looked for a way out during their verbal tennis match. The courtyard was surrounded by high fences with barbed wire on top. There was one small exit in front of you, but the twins were blocking the way.

And Walker, if that was his name, was waiting behind you. _Shit_. Better think of something!

The twins advanced. “The quick way this time.” “Just the eyes and legs.” “He’s so lucky.”

Walker beckoned. “Be brave, little pig. It’ll only hurt for a second.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Fellas, you don’t want to do _that_ ,” you said, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. “You want—you want Jeremy Blaire! The man who made The Engine!”

That made them pause. Even Walker was paying attention.

“Blaire… I know that name.” “As do I.” “I would like to issue a complaint.” “A bargain, then.” “Matthew 21:18.” “…The fig tree thing?” “Ah, wrong verse. I meant ‘an eye for an eye’.” “That’s _Exodus_.” “No, it’s in Matthew.” “It's in Exodus.” “Matthew.” “Exodus.” “Matthew.” “Exodus.”

They went on like this for a while. It would have been the perfect opportunity to escape, but there wasn’t enough room to get around them. You used your camcorder to zoom in on the giant. “Hey, Walker. Say something funny.”

He glared at you.

“Do it, do it, do it!” you goaded. “Do it for the vine!”

Walker huffed. “Describe the target.”

“What? Oh!” you said, almost giddy at the prospect of pointing this guy at your boss. “Sure! He’s a little taller than me, black hair, and, uh… wearing a suit.”

The twins had been listening. “You don’t say.” “Father Martin mentioned a suit.” “Asked us not to kill his apostle.” “But if that’s Blaire…” “Maybe we could compromise.”

“Yeah! Shank him dead!” you said. At last, something was going right! “Walker and I were just chasing him! Right, Walker?” You looked behind you to confirm this.

Walker was gone, leaving a dark, empty window.

You gulped. You definitely liked him better when you could see him.

“…We should go,” said one of the twins. “See if we can catch Blaire first,” said the other. “Unless Walker figures out doors.” “Unlikely.” “Doors are hard.” “But seriously, it’s in Exodus.” “Nuh-uh.” “Yes-huh.”

They kept right on talking as they turned and left, disappearing into the fog. You were alone, and for a moment, torn between staying there or running until your feet fell off. You settled for a moderate pace and only ran whenever you heard a noise, which was all the time.

After ages of walking and running and hiding and sneaking, your blood-curdling terror dulled to a constant buzzing nervousness in the back of your mind and you felt more tired than you ever had in your life. You kept moving because you thought if you stopped you’d turn into dust. Rorschach tests randomly flashed behind your eyes and there was an itch you couldn’t scratch.

By the time you arrived at a watchtower with a spiraling staircase inside, it was night. In any other circumstance it would have been nice to see the stars after two weeks underground. As it was, you thought it best to find some place “safe” to curl up and sleep until morning. You’d give almost anything to feel something besides cold, wet metal and cement.

You climbed the tower to a ledge that circled the outside. There used to be a bridge that connected to more watch posts and offices. The lights were on. Maybe there would be somewhere to hide. You looked warily at the expanse, though. It was a long jump, and the only thing left of the bridge was a few precarious planks.

You did a lap around the ledge to see if there was any other way or where you should go. Nope.

Eh, it wasn’t _that_ far. “I can make it!” you told yourself, and got a running start.

Whoops.


	3. Here Comes the Groom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Eddie Gluskin, everyone.

You fell onto concrete, which was somewhat softened by wood.  There was wood underneath you because you fell through a rotting roof first.

You groaned as you rolled over.  You guessed most of your bones were broken or fractured, but you were still breathing.

Could have been worse.  You could have been cooked alive when Frank threw you in the oven.  Luckily you punched your way out, because you were awesome (man, that hurt).

When you rose, it wasn't with a triumph of courage.  You didn’t get up and think, _‘FOR THE CHILDREN!’_ so much as, _'Whatever. I mean, I'm alive, so I might as well keep moving. God, everything hurts.  I'm hungry.’_

Thinking about food made you think about Frank.  Thinking about Frank made you lose your appetite, so there was that.

Every time you moved, you discovered a new pain; feet, ankles, knees, hips, back, shoulders, neck and head in no particular order.  While you were impressed at your ability to stand at all, you knew running like this would be slow at best.  You _really_ needed to rest, or at least get some caffeine.  If you met the Jeremy now, or Walker...

From what you could tell, you'd crashed into an old storage unit.  There were a lot of shelves with books and other random items.  Ooh, a battery!  No weapons though, not even anything sharp.

There were voices chatting nearby.  It sounded like three or four people.  Should you run towards them, or away?

That decision wound up being made for you.  The voices came closer, and you made out the words 'flesh' and 'sacrifice'.  That was your cue.  You shuffled as quickly and quietly as you could down a set of stairs.  You heard laughter trailing behind you, but no one was chasing you this time.

Downstairs it was so dark you had to activate the night vision on your camcorder after all.  Through the green light you could see several neglected sewing machines.  As you moved from room to room they became more cluttered with furniture and supplies, largely for making clothing.  The floors and walls were made of old wood and all of it was covered in tons and tons of dust.

Many of the doors were boarded up.  You came up to a double set with narrow windows.  You tried the handle, but it was locked.

“ _Darling!_ ” said a man on the other side of the glass.

“!!!!!!” you gasped/choked.  The right side of his face was covered in scabbed over wounds and he was smiling brightly.  His eyes and teeth shone white in your camera, making him seem almost demonic, but that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was you were sure you'd seen him before—

“Oooh... Darling, you... Frankly, my dear, you look _awful_.  Has someone been punching you all day?” he said, his voice laced with concern.  “Wait right there, I'm coming for you.”

_No thank you_.  You got a good look at him as he left to find another way to you; he was _very_ big.  Not Walker big, but probably a match for one of the twins.  There was no way you could fight and win.

And you couldn't run, either!  Even if he meant well, only an idiot wouldn't try to hide first!  You ducked under one of the desks nearby and held your breath.

You heard another door creak open and his footsteps approaching.  “Darling?  Where did you go?” he called.  “Did I frighten you?  I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean to...”

Through your camera, you could see him looking back and forth.  He sounded sincere, but they all did.   You stayed put.

He walked by your desk slowly, the floorboards creaking under his weight.  You guessed he'd be about 200lbs, maybe more considering his height, and his muscular build was obvious through his mishmash of clothes.  His dark vest and white shirt were sewn together poorly.  Was he trying to make a formal outfit?   _Why?_

“We've met before, haven't we? I know I've seen your face,” he said into the darkness.  “Maybe... just before I woke up.  Though it seems like a dream now, being here with you.”

You swallowed.  So he knew you too, but you still couldn’t place it.  You started sneaking the way he came in while he kept talking, but then a squeaky floorboard gave your position away.  He turned to you, smiling again.

“Darling!  Come to me!” he pleaded, holding out his hand.

You backed away.  He didn't pursue you, but his smile was starting to falter.  For a split-second you felt sorry for him, then you noticed something important.

“...Is that a knife?” you asked.

He looked at his other hand.  “What?  Oh, this?  No, darling, this isn't a knife.  It's a scalpel!” he replied with a laugh.

You scampered right out of there.

“DARLING, COME BACK!  PLEASE, I CAN’T BE ALONE!” he begged, giving chase.  Such a large man might have trouble keeping up with you normally, but you were in bad shape.  You rounded a corner and followed a light, which was coming from an elevator shaft.

There was a ladder on the other side, but it looked ancient.

“LET ME LOVE YOU!” he cried, arms open wide.  Yeah, that was _not_ a scalpel.

You jumped, landing on the ladder.  It shuddered under you and you heard metal bolts popping out.  It came off the wall and you swung wildly backwards, barely keeping your grip.  The rungs you were standing on popped out of the side rails, swiftly followed by the rungs you were holding, sending you falling down the shaft.

You weren’t as lucky as when you went through the roof.  You landed on top of the elevator, and only your right leg breached its surface.  You screamed and instinctively pulled, causing a large chunk of wood to lodge inside your calf.

“Oh god!  Oh god, are you ok?!” tuxedo man called down to you.  “Tell me you’re ok!  I’d hate to think of you suffering without me!”

You’d had enough of everything.  “DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M OK!?” you yelled back.  You yanked the wood out of your skin, which caused more yelling and bleeding.

“Why would you DO something like that to yourself?” he asked.  “You would… rather die than be with me?”

“Uhh, wait, I didn’t say—”

His needy, placating demeanor warped, becoming cruel instead.  “Then _die_ ,” he said, closing the safety cage and pressing the ‘call elevator’ button.

The machine you were standing on chugged to life and started going up towards the ceiling.  You could have been crushed, but thankfully you were able to hobble off it and onto another floor first.

“Ha!  We continue!” he said triumphantly, forgetting that he was the one who _just tried to kill you_.

Putting weight on your injured leg sent searing pain shooting through your whole body.  With tears streaming down your face, you forced yourself to hop forward, leaning on walls or doorways or whatever you could for support.

Now he was hunting you at a leisurely pace.  You couldn’t help but think of a twisted Pepé Le Pew cartoon.

“Daaaaaarliiiiiing, where aaaaaare yooooooou?” he sang out.  “You’re making me work for it, aren’t you, you little minx?  I’m fine with games—really, I am, and our courtship should be memorable—but darling, you’re bleeding, and you need to lie down.”

You looked at your leg.  You were leaving a trail of red.  “Sh-shut up!” you sobbed.

His huge frame came into view.  “I can fix you,” he said.  “Make you better.  There’s something special about you, I know it.  You’re not what you’re meant to be.  Not yet.”

“…What now?”  _Did he know?_

“Be my wife.  Carry on my legacy.”

“WHAT?!”

“I want you to have my baby!”

You slammed a door behind you and shoved one of those metal cabinets in front of it.  He sounded impressed.  “I say!  Such a strong, fit woman.  We’ll have _lots_ of children.”  He pushed against the door, moving the cabinet aside far too easily.

_‘Oh no, oh no, oh god, oh no_ ,’ you thought.  Your one chance now was to hide, and the only place you could was in a nearby locker.  You got inside and closed it, only to find the grate was busted.  He’d see you for sure! 

You tried to open it, but the lock was stuck fast.  You hunkered down as far as you could and tried to keep your heart in your chest.

“Darling, you can’t hide from me,” you heard him say somewhere nearby.  You dared to hope he was bluffing, then an arm came through the grate.  You thought he’d hit or stab you, but all he did was touch your nose with his index finger.  “Gotchya!  Game over.”

You got a much better look at him this time.  The whites of his eyes were completely bloodshot.  His skin was almost alabaster white save for the wounds on his face and lips.  He had black combed down hair, and a bowtie for some reason.

_That’s_ when you recognized him.  He’s the man who begged you for help right after you sent the letter to Upshur!  The one you could do nothing for! 

…What was his name again?  Whatever, it wasn’t important.

Now your roles were reversed in every respect.  What could you possibly say to him?  How could you ask for mercy?

Mistaking your shock and despair with coyness, he chuckled and put his shoulder to the locker.  “Here we go,” he said, and you felt it tip to the side, then he dragged the locker with you inside it away.

You knew he was strong, but _shit!_   “H-HOW!?” you sputtered.

“That’s the power of love!” he replied/grunted.  You had no idea where he was headed.  All you could see was more darkness broken by the occasional hanging lamp.  Along the way he promised he would be kind and caring after you’d been properly married.

“You must be as eager as I am to consummate our love,” he said, setting you down and leaving.  When you saw where you’d stopped, you gagged.

There was a table with a huge, circular saw stained bright red with blood.  Arms and legs were hooked onto chains hanging from the ceiling, still dripping.

He came back with something on his wrist.  “But as I said, you need to rest.  Here.  This will help you relax.”

He sprayed you with a green gas.  You put your hand over your nose and mouth and held out for as long as you could, but there was nothing for it.  The dizziness and loss of vision were familiar.  You succumbed to unconsciousness in less than a minute.

***

When you woke up, What’s-His-Face had another man naked and lying on the bloody table.  The naked guy was groaning but too weak to struggle, probably hit with the same gas (or just hit on the head).

“There, silky smooth, like a little girl again,” your captor crooned, stroking the other man’s leg.  He took out a large knife and drew it lightly down along his victim’s front, paying special attention to his dick.

“Now for the more delicate bits,” he said, and raised the knife—

“WAIT!” you shouted, banging on the locker door.

He was so startled he jumped.  “D-darling!?  Uh…”  He looked at you.  Then down at his victim.  Then back to you.

It was hard to tell, but in that lighting and under his scabs, you’d swear he was blushing.

“This—this isn’t what it looks like!” he stammered.  When he saw he was still holding the knife, he put it behind his back.  Like that would help.

“…Then… what is it?” you asked, out of ideas and stalling for time.

“It’s just surgery, I swear!  She means nothing to me!”

“What surgery?”

“It’s called a vaginoplasty.  That’s where you—”

“I KNOW WHAT THAT IS!” you screamed, hitting the door harder.  Exactly what it sounded like, a vaginoplasty was what male-to-female transsexuals had done, but it damn well wasn’t with a knife and saw!

“Oh!” he beamed.  “Are you a doctor too?  Wonderful!  That will make things much easier when it’s your turn, but I insist you go back to sleep, darling.   Now where did I put that gas?”

“Don’t worry about me!” you said, trying to sound calm.  “He— _she’s_ still awake!  Shouldn’t you give it to her?!”  Maybe you could break out and rescue his victim while he was gone, but you couldn’t do anything if you got knocked out again.

“I did!  I gave her—I gave you anesthetic, didn’t I?” he asked his ‘patient’, poking him with the knife.  The patient jerked on reflex, but couldn’t answer beyond a moan.  “I’m _pretty sure_ I did…  Oh well!  No time like the present!”

“WAIT!  OH GOD, WAIT!”  You had one trump card, but did you have to use it?  Would it even work?

He sighed.  “Darling, this is getting old.  Please just wait your turn…”

Well, either way you were out of options.  Lisa would understand.  She’d probably ask you to do it if it meant saving a life.

“Please don’t cut,” you said quietly.  “I… already have what you need.”

He turned his head to the side.  “Beg your pardon?”

You grimaced.  What would he do to you?  What _wouldn’t_ he do to you?  You guessed you were going to get to find out.

“I h-have a…  I can make babies.  Without surgery.  You don’t have to stab anyone, please don’t cut her,” you said. 

“…Do you mean it?  You’re a real woman?” he asked, hopeful.  Even his victim’s eyes were wider.

_Ouch_.   “Y-yes.  Yes, and I can prove it!” you said.  “It’ll take just a minute.  What have you got to lose, honey?” 

The pet name rolled off your tongue.  It was a lucky break; he inhaled deeply and smiled, his eyes shining with warmth.

“All right, darling.  Since you asked so nicely,” he said, his voice full of adoration as he strode towards you still wielding that knife.  He used it to jimmy open the locker’s lock, nearly giving you a heart-attack.  When you were free, he stood in front of you expectantly.

You couldn’t meet his gaze as you reached for the zipper on your back.  It took some finagling, but you got your orange jumper open.  He frowned a bit when he saw your chest and opened his mouth to say something, so you hurried up and got it down to your ankles.

“There, see?” you said, hoping he’d let you keep your underwear on.

Not convinced, he slid his hand in to check with two fingers.  Judging by his expression, you passed.  “…Oh, darling… _you’re beautiful_ ,” he purred in your ear.  You bit your tongue to stay quiet and grabbed his vest with both hands, steadying yourself and resisting the urge to run.

He kissed your neck and withdrew his hand.  Suddenly he started screaming, so you did too, and the guy on the table fell off with a ‘THUD’.

“Oh, no!  Oh, nooooo!” he wailed.  “Darling, I am so sorry!”

“W-what?!” you asked, thinking about jumping back in the locker.

“I’ve deflowered you!  Oh god, I didn’t mean to!” he said, holding up his fingers.  They were red.

“Oh.  That’s, um,” you started to explain, but he interrupted you.

“If you weren’t a virgin I would have thrown you away like all those other sluts!  But I had no idea I could take something so precious away so easily!”

You blinked.  He didn’t know what periods were.  What year was he from?  The 1800s?  “……………………Yes.  What you just said is… exactly right,” you said, doing your best poker face.

“This won’t do!  I must make it up to you,” he said, scrambling to put the knife away and wipe his hands on a towel.  “We’ll do this properly.  Your first time needs to be wonderful, not an accident!  Oh, I can be _so_ empty-headed sometimes!”

He bent down and swept you into his arms before you could protest.  “You’re right, darling, I don’t need anyone else.  It’s just going to be you and me.  Forever.”

You looked over his shoulder as he carried you off for the second time.  You hoped the man you’d just saved would return the favor, but all you saw was his silhouette as he stumbled away.

_‘YOU’RE WELCOME!’_ you screamed internally, certain this was how you’d die.

“Forgive me for doing things out of order, darling.  We’ll still have our wedding, and of course you’ll be in white,” the crazy-strong crazy-man said, crushing you against his chest.  He was heading towards yet another doorway.  “I’ll just know you more intimately first, that’s all.  Everyone will see you’re mine and how much I love you.  _I’ll show you just how much I love you_.”

As he opened the door you shut your eyes, remembering how earlier you thought things could have been worse.

You took it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in the next chapter, uh........................... yeah ._.


	4. Bride Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: WHY ARE YOU READING OUTLAST??????? But seriously, like, all of them.

You were taken into what once might have been a nice office. There was a desk, a bookshelf, a comfy chair, and a few fancy paintings on the walls. Even the ceiling lights and floor lamps worked. What looked out of place was your destination; a mattress in the corner.

The comforter was put together in the same haphazard way as your captor’s clothes. You could feel the different textures when he lay you on it, not that you were paying much attention.

Despite his promises to be gentle, he put both hands on your shoulders and pushed you down with excessive force. The warmth in his eyes became fiery with lust and he kissed you harshly. He used a lot of tongue, making it a bit sloppy, and he “playfully” nibbled your lips. You tried not to whine.

“Hmm, darling,” he said. “This was a good idea. You’ll thank me later.” He nuzzled your neck. The wounds on his face were jarring against your skin and his hot breath reminded you of his teeth. “I want to know you. I want to feel every inch of you, every crevice. Your skin, your smell, your heartbeat, and… what’s _inside_ you.”

He sat up and took off his vest and shirt. You couldn’t help but gape. You remembered he was big when he was begging you for help before they put him in The Engine, but up close he looked even larger. He was practically an anatomy lesson, his muscles were so defined. You almost wished you’d taken some steroids too. It wouldn’t have been smart, but it might have given you a leg up against these guys.

Speaking of legs, he grabbed at yours to spread them apart. “Ah! That hurts!” you said, pointing to your right calf.

He looked down, irritated at first, but then he saw the blood on his thumb. “Goodness! I completely forgot. You’re just bleeding all over the place today, aren’t you, darling?” he said endearingly. “I’ll patch this up, but you _really_ must be more careful. If something happened to you… Why, I couldn’t bear to think of it!”

He reached into one of his pockets and took out a bandage roll. Very gently, he lifted your leg, hissing through his teeth with sympathy. “Such a shame. Your legs were flawless, and now…” He took out yet another knife and shook his head. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

At the moment you were thinking about where he was keeping all those blades. To your credit, you only glared at him for a second while he was busy.

He carefully covered your wound in two layers of clean, white wrap. His hands were steady and sure; you could feel the bandage had the exact right amount of pressure. You wondered how this man could be the same person who was ready to—and clearly already had—mercilessly cut people into pieces.

“What’s your name?” you finally asked.

“It’s—” he started to say, then stopped himself. His face had a nervous, distant expression. “…It’s not important. Just call me honey, I like that.” He pushed you back down and caged you in his arms to resume his affections.

You put a hand on his chest to stall him. “But shouldn’t I know what my new last name is?” you insisted.

“Y—well—but—it’s—now, wait!” he said, floundering. It was nice to have him on the ropes for once, even if it didn’t last long. “I’ve got it!” he said, snapping his fingers. “I’ll take _your_ last name! It’s the 21 st century! Why not? People are more progressive nowadays, who cares about that sort of thing? Far too old-fashioned for my tastes, by Jove.”

“…Um…”

“What’s your name?” he asked, touching your nose with his.

“Park,” you replied, unable to think up a lie in time. You pressed yourself deeper into the bed. It didn’t help.

He rewarded you with a kiss. “Mr. and Mrs. Park. _Perfect_ ,” he said quietly. He lay on top of you with his full weight. You weren’t crushed, but you had little to no wiggle room either. You were struck more by the heat of his upper-body, not realizing how cold you were until then.

“Brr! Darling, you’re freezing!” he said. “I’ll fix that.” He licked along your neck, leaving a hot, wet trail and giving you goose bumps everywhere.

You shuddered involuntarily. Encouraged, he kissed and licked and bit along your collarbone and shoulder. He was breathing harder, and as his excitement grew his delighted murmurs became sinister growls. With his right hand he pulled at your left leg, moving it aside and grinding your hips together.

Guys you hung out with, from scholars to techies, made a lot of dick jokes. What they didn’t know was that vaginas weren’t much better, they were just more subtle about it.

‘ _You cut that out!’_ you ordered your body. Nothing going. Weeks without Lisa had left you craving physical contact, and it didn’t care who it came from (at least when it came to foreplay). You started sweating and felt yourself getting wet and ready for him against your wishes.

When you noticed his erection in his pants, however, you panicked and attempted to push him away. You were still weak from the gas, but you’d never forgive yourself if you made it easy for him.

The disparity between your strength and his was so great that he couldn’t tell you were struggling. His warm palms slid down your sides and went under the top strap of your underwear, your last piece of clothing.

“Wait… please, wait!” you said as he pulled them off.

He was irritated again. “No, don’t ask me that. I need you now.”

“But—what about—we should be married first!”

“Darling, we’ve been over this—”

You snapped. “WE didn’t agree on anything! YOU decided FOR me!”

Suddenly his hands were around your throat. “SHUT UP! I’m doing this for you! Don’t you understand!?” he roared, his hair disheveled and his face contorted in fury. “Are you as ungrateful as all the others?! I give and give! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT?!”

You dug your nails into whatever skin you could reach. He didn’t seem to register pain and continued to rant.

“WOMEN! So selfish! It’s all, ‘Me, me, me!’ ‘I only see you as a friend!’ ‘Pay for my dinner!’ ‘Buy me presents!’ ‘I wanted a _blood orange_ dress! This is _red!_ ’ ‘Stop stabbing me!’ God, it never ends!”

Your lungs were on fire and your vision was starting to go. “Darling, I can forgive you, but remember _I_ am your _husband_ ,” he growled, his red eyes burning into yours.

If it was only your life in the hands of this lunatic, you might have considered death over submission. With a wife, two children, and an entire asylum of people counting on you, you _had_ to survive, but it was going to cost you.

“I’m… sorry,” you gasped.

Like turning off a light switch, his anger instantly vanished and he was all smiles, just like when he chased you after you escaped the elevator. He let go and you inhaled gratefully until he stole your breath with hungry kisses.

Still dazed, it was all you could do to brace yourself when he took off his pants. Once you saw how big he was, you couldn’t bear to watch. He got into position between your legs and put it in without further ado. You needed all your willpower not to yell. It had been ages since you’d been penetrated, and you sure felt it this time!

“Mmmm, darling,” he said, starting to thrust. “You feel _soooooo good_. Do you feel me inside you?”

“ _YES_ ,” you answered, clenching your jaw.

He had the nerve to laugh. “I knew you were the one! I knew it!” he said, pinning your arms down and picking up the pace.

At first it was a sharp, burning pain when he moved. You told yourself to relax, but it was hard to do with him going so fast. “Can—you—slow—down?” you asked, doing your best not to show that he was hurting you.

Instead, he became more violent. He pulled your hair and bit hard enough to draw blood. He even forgot to be careful of your leg in his frenzy, pushing harder and faster. “Oh, god… oh, darling,” he panted. “I’m going to fill you up! I’m… going to…”

He came with a yell, then flopped on top of you. You both lay there, covered in sweat and blood and other fluids. Even though it was mercifully short, you were surprised to still be alive.

He kissed your forehead, then both eyelids. Not in a hurry to uncouple, he stayed on and in you, basking in the afterglow. “You’re mine now. Are you happy?” he said into your ear.

‘ _More like filled with murderous rage_ ,’ you thought. The pain at your entrance had softened, but it wasn’t very pleasant.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he continued. “I'm yours too, of course.  I may not be as young as I was, but I’ll be ready soon. We’ll do this again and again. Won’t that be nice?”

Damn it! He didn’t even have the decency to fall sleep! You doubted you’d survive round two!

“Darling, I _love_ you,” he said, kissing under your jaw. “Tell me you love me. Don’t you love me?”

You didn’t trust yourself to say anything except “GO DIE,” so you gently petted his head.

Then something completely different happened; he gasped and got a sad, almost frightened look. Confused and curious, you put more pressure into your fingers as you dragged them across his scalp. In response he pulled out and scooted lower, resting his cheek on your chest.

You heard him sniffle. Was he trying not to cry? “Uh… there, there, honey,” you said.

“Darling, c-could you sing to me?” he asked, his voice breaking.

The hell was going on? “What should I sing?” you asked.

“Anything,” he replied.

It was difficult to think. You racked your brain for something easy, something soothing. Most of the ones you knew were about lovers, and that was _not_ going to happen.

What about ‘God Help the Outcasts’? Scarily appropriate, actually. You gave it your best shot.

Your range had drastically changed since your transition from female to male. It was strange in your deep, manly voice, but…

… _But…_

Nope, it just sounded awful.

Fortunately he was appeased. “Thank you,” he whimpered. He wiped away a tear, completely docile and clinging to you for dear life.

This was the weirdest thing to happen to you in minutes! Where was the man who almost killed you twice? Had you discovered some secret weakness? Was it instilled by hypnosis or The Engine or what?

You’d be sure to remember it for later, whatever it was. A little later, you realized he’d fallen asleep after all. You tried to move, but he mumbled something and held you tighter. Any more movement and he’d wake up and…

You grabbed the pillow and screamed into it.

Really. Your one shot to escape, after enduring all that, and you couldn’t get away because he wouldn’t let go. _Really_. Hmm. Maybe you could suffocate him? Nah, he’d wake up and overpower you. What now?

Well, right now you were sore everywhere and impossibly tired. Truth be told you were more concerned about getting an infection in your leg than getting pregnant, not that you would ever tell him that. One of the few boons to being a transsexual was it would be much harder to successfully conceive than it would be to explain it to your boys (and that would be _damn hard_ ).

If you couldn’t get away, though, he was sure to keep trying. How long would you last?

Not very long unless you healed up. The bed was soft, inviting you to sleep, and he was warm with big strong arms…

You were loathe to admit it, but maybe this guy, whoever he was, was your best defense against other variants. Surely he had no intention of sharing you, and he’d probably come to your rescue if someone attacked you.

Someone besides himself, anyway. Nothing for it now. You snuggled under him to get more comfortable and closed your eyes.

Geh. Better not tell Lisa about this.


	5. Domestic Dealings

You were wrapped in a blanket like a warm, cozy, human burrito. Lisa was downstairs making breakfast. The scent wafted lazily into your room. Your body was so sleepy and heavy you didn't want to move, but your stomach wouldn't have it, loudly telling you to rise.

You opened your eyes. She was holding a plate of toast, fruit, and... was that bacon? Bacon! SALTY CRISPY BACON!

You smiled up at her, thinking you were in heaven, the horrible nightmare you'd been having was over, but then Lisa evaporated and was replaced by a red-eyed monster in a tux.

"She lives!" he said. "I was beginning to worry, darling. I thought you'd never wake up."

The previous day (or week (or whatever)) crashed back into your groggy mind like a torrent of ice water. Repulsed, your face turned green. You rejected everything—the food, your location, what this man had done to you—and hid inside the blanket.

You felt the bed shift when he sat next to you. "Oh no you don't, darling!" he said. "You've been asleep the whole day. Come out, or I'll have to persuade you."

You couldn't tell from his tone if he was being playful or threatening, and you didn't care. "Nooooooooo," you said, curling deeper into the covers.

"As you wish," he said. A brief pause, and then he gave you a vigorous tickling.

Your only escape was to exit your comfy cocoon, a difficult task due to your involuntary thrashing. Once untangled you tried to squirm to freedom, but he pulled you under him for more kisses.

After thoroughly mixing your saliva with his, he sat up and motioned to the plate. "You must be hungry, darling," he said.

You would have been furious that your assailant made you laugh, but... the bacon. It sang its siren call, and you were but flesh and blood.

You reached for it only to be struck by a disturbing thought: was it made of pig, or _people?_

"Uh... h-honey?" you said, retracting your hand.

"Yeeeeeeeeeees?" he replied.

"Where did you get all this?"

"A husband provides for his family," he said, puffing out his chest like a proud papa eagle.

You tried again. "...Why do you have, uh... extra parts in... You know, hanging from the ceiling?"

He blinked. "Hanging from...? Oh! Yes, THOSE! Ahem, well... I keep them just in case."

"In case what?"

He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers. "There are many dark and terrible things in this world," he said. "I've been forced to do things I could never tell our children. Now please, have breakfast. You're eating for two! Perhaps three!"

...It smelled like real bacon... and it looked real... Would you know the difference? He was waiting and you wouldn't put it passed him to force-feed you. Maybe if you just had the fruit and toast, he wouldn't push it.  


Once you started eating though, nothing in the world could have made you stop. The whole plate of food was gone in an instant.

"Goodness! There's a healthy appetite!" he laughed. He handed you a glass of milk, and you chugged it without hesitation.

He put a hand behind your head to hold you still as he pulled out a handkerchief. "You've got a little something here," he said quietly, dabbing your mouth with it. "And here," he said, kissing your lips once, twice, then three times, each longer than the last.

Tenderly (for him), he pressed you into the mattress and took you again. He was very slow, determined to enjoy you. It didn't hurt nearly as much. He paid attention to what you responded to, even though you were mostly holding still. That was something of a mixed blessing; you didn't want to think this guy could make you feel good.

He had your injured leg hooked over his shoulder and was nearing the point of no return. You offered to give him oral sex—that way you wouldn't have to worry about pregnancy, no matter how slim the chance—but he rejected it outright. "No, darling, nothing... nothing down the throat," he said, looking nearly sick at the idea.

Eh, you didn't exactly relish the thought anyway. He flipped you onto your stomach and dragged his fingers down your back, then he held your hips hard enough to leave bruises and slammed into you until he came.

"Darling, if this is you before we're married, I cannot _wait_ until the honeymoon. Let's get you cleaned up," he said, giving your rump a whack.

Guess he didn't feel like cuddles. He gathered you into his arms with an "Up we go!" and carried you to a shower room that sort of still worked almost sometimes. Even if the water wasn't as hot as you liked, it was great getting all that blood and dirt and sweat and other stuff off.

He showered with you to help, basically holding you up. He kept his body in constant contact with yours, covering you with suds and rubbing it off. The more he touched you, the more excited he became. If you didn't think of something, he'd probably shove you against the wall and do it.

Quickly you grabbed a bottle that might have been shampoo and massaged it into his hair.

It had the same effect; he instantly relaxed, losing his erection. He even sat down to make it easier, trusting you enough to turn his back. "Thank you, darling," he said through a yawn. "What was that song you sang before?"

"It's from a Disney movie," you said. "You haven't heard it?"

"...I don't get out much," he answered bitterly.

Gee, you wondered why not. "I'm sorry."

He chuckled. "Don't be. I have you now, and soon there will be little you's running around with us. What could be better?”

Ha! Joke's on him. Still, maybe you could use his delusions to your advantage. "You don't mean to raise them here?" you asked.

His shoulders tensed and he turned to scowl at you. "What? It isn't good enough?"

"It's great! IT'S GREAT!" you said, holding up your hands defensively. "I thought, what, um, what about Walrider?"

"What's a Walrider?" he asked.

"Well, I mean, there's a ghost thing floating around exploding people. We should go," you explained reasonably.

"Darling, don't be silly!" he laughed. "Killer ghosts? That's stupid."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhh... and Walker?"

"Walker? What are they going to do, jog slowly after us?"

“He’s WAY more dangerous than that! I can show you," you said. "I've got him on camera. Have you seen my camera?"

"Yes, it was in that dreadful jumper you were wearing. I picked it up for you when I was trying to figure out your measurements," he said, standing up and rinsing off his hair.

"Measurements?" you asked.

You could tell by his grin that was the right question. "For your dress, of course," he said, turning off the water and holding your chin in his hand. "It's gorgeous. Wait until you see it."

 _A dress._ After all you'd overcome to be a man, you were going to be forced into another one, and now you had to pretend to enjoy it, too.

While you were practiced at putting on fake smiles for your family, doing it again brought back all that resentment and depression roiling to the surface. You had to turn away or he'd see something was wrong.

"Ah, she is overcome with joy," he sighed, coming up behind you and putting his palms on your back. "I'm happy too, darling."

Whoops. Better move before he gets hard again. It was just going to be like this; dancing around his amorous/murderous intentions until help arrived, or you healed, or something killed him, or you both died. Whichever came first!

It might have been entertaining if it wasn't happening to you.

"Let's go get my camera," you said as you took a step out of the shower. Your leg reminded you it wasn't in the mood with a shock of pain, making you stumble.

"Darling!" he said, catching you. "I told you to be more careful! Here, lean on me."

You didn't have a choice. He pulled your arm over his shoulders and you hopped alongside him, listening to him scold you for trying to walk like it wasn't his fault in the first place. Must be nice to have a selective memory!

He brought you back to bed and toweled you dry. Since your bandages were wet, he cut them off with a not-scalpel. You saw your wound was stitched.

"I did that for you while you were asleep," he explained, examining his handiwork. "...You're welcome," he said when you didn't respond quickly enough.

"I—thank you!" you said honestly. "I was just surprised."

He smiled and pecked your forehead. Still naked, he went over to the desk and retrieved your camera. "What was this for?" he asked, handing it to you.

"It's a hobby of mine," you replied lamely. You turned it on. It was low on battery, but it was still working. You breathed a sigh of relief and went through the old videos.

Meanwhile, your "groom" sat between your legs and wrapped your wound. While he was at it, he massaged and wrapped your torn feet, giving you sort of armored socks.

It was a kind gesture and your calves were grateful for it, which made you feel annoyed and guilty at once. His large, practiced hands rubbed away the aches in your muscles; even when it hurt, it was in a good way. It was certainly distracting while you were searching for the right movie to show him.

"That should help," he said, patting your knee and clearly expecting a reward.

Thinking it was the only way to grant his silent request without arousing him, you petted his head. He leaned into your fingers and closed his eyes. What an odd "off" switch, like turning a shark upside-down.

Whatever. So long as it was effective, you wouldn’t complain.

"Learning my weaknesses, eh? Clever girl," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Uh-oh. Perhaps not as effective as you thought. “Why do you like it so much?” you asked.

"My mother used to do that while singing for me. Calmed me down every time."

You started screaming internally. You had no idea when you'd stop.

"..........So here's Walker," you said, showing him the LCD monitor on your camera. He pulled you into his lap so he could watch over your shoulder.

"Hey, Walker! Say something funny!" your voice echoed in the video.

He gasped. "Goodness gracious me! She is... AMAZINGLY ugly! Eck! What is WRONG with her FACE?!"

 _'Don't tell him, don't tell him, don't tell him,'_ you chanted to yourself over and over, staring at his own scarred features.

"What's a vine?" he asked.

"It's a meme," you replied. He gave you a blank look, so you elaborated. "You know, an inside joke on the internet."

"...Internet?"

Right. "Never mind. Walker tried to kill me, along with just about everyone else in here."

“Tch! It's because you're so much prettier, you understand,” he scoffed. “They're jealous. Don't worry, I can protect you."

"But—but Walker won't give up!" you protested. "Do you think you could fight HER?"

He frowned, taking the camera from you to get a better view. "Uh... well... I'm not supposed to hit women... unless they deserve it, of course."

 _'Captain Douchebag, everyone,'_ you thought. You pressed him harder. "She'll come after us! After our children!"

"Thaaat would deserve it…" he said, mulling it over.

Could it be? Would he see reason?

"Surely we would hear her coming, and judging by your antics, our babies will be very good at parkour," he said, closing the monitor.

"BABIES CAN'T DO PARKOUR!" you yelled.

"I'll handle it," he said, dismissing your concern with a wave of his hand.

"What about school? And FOOD? And EVERYTHING?!" you said, too frustrated to care if you were putting yourself at risk.

"Darling, we _can't leave_ ," he said, his face clouding over. He gripped your arms too tightly and turned you to face him. As he spoke, he veered wildly from furious to desperate.

"The treatment here opened my eyes, but it only works here! I remember everything I went through, all of it, but I know that if I leave they'll lock me up again! MORE useless torture! MORE pills! MORE shocks! And they'll take YOU from me! I WON'T LIVE THROUGH IT, I WON'T! I'LL DIE! _I'D RATHER DIE!"_

Suddenly he pressed your head against his chest, but it was for his comfort rather than yours. "I ran from my father, but my mother... she ran from me. Like there was something wrong with me. Like I don't deserve a family that loves me," he choked. "I hate being alone. There's nothing worse. Promise you won't run. Promise you won't leave me."

You thought this man had two modes—husband and murderer—but now it looked like he had a third; scared little boy. He was actually shaking. You found it profoundly stupid that you felt pity for this third persona, but there it was.

“Promise, please promise me,” he begged, kissing your neck and collar bone.

“I promise,” you said nervously, wondering how to get off his lap.

“Forever and ever?” he asked, holding you still.

“Yes.”

“Really and truly, darling?” he said, licking one of your nipples.

“Y-yes.”

“Hmm…” he paused, looking up at you. “How do you feel about implants?”

“NO!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badum-tish. We have fun here.


	6. Mine's Bigger

The conversation with your wannabe husband went as such:

•    He explained how safe and easy breast implants were.  
•    You explained how much you didn’t want one.  
•    He asked how you’d fit into your dress with a flat chest.  
•    You asked if he’d heard of stuffing.  
•    He said of course, he’s a tailor, but he really missed squishing boobies.  
•    You said in that case, he could sew them onto his own chest.

Predictably, that drew out his dark side.  He yelled at you in increasing volume, reminding you of your position as subservient wife and how it was perfectly reasonable that a woman must put her husband and children over her petty wants like, say, not getting cut open.

He came close to striking you twice. You reminded him that you were his last real hope of having children at all, and that meant something as risky as surgery was out of the question.

Furious, but admitting your point, he took out his anger on the furniture and slammed the door when he left.  Then he came back in, grabbed his pants because he was naked, and stormed back out.

The desk had been thrown on its side and the books from the bookshelf were strewn across the floor.  Too hurt and tired to get up but too awake to sleep, you picked up a title that looked interesting and started reading.  It shut out your terrible circumstances for a couple chapters until the walls started whispering to you.

“Psssst,” said the voice.

“Aw, hell,” you groaned.  “Guess it was only a matter of time!”

“I thought you’d be glad to see me,” they said again.  Wait a minute… it was a real voice!  And it was coming from the vent!

“Who’s there?” you asked, standing up and not comforted in the least now that you knew a physical stranger was in there with you.  You honestly thought to call your “lover” in for help.  You wondered if that meant you were crazy after all.

“I’m the man you saved earlier,” said whoever it was through the grate.  His voice was deep and he sounded like he’d been gargling gravel.  “I wanted to do the same for you, but I was too weak.  That gas floored me.”

“Th-that’s ok!” you replied, struggling to stay quiet despite your excitement.  Not only was he alive, but he came back for you!

“Are you all right?”

“…Well, I’m alive,” you said after a moment.

“You’re luckier than most, then,” he said bitterly.  “I’ll help however I can.”

You smiled sincerely for the first time since you arrived at Mt. Massive.  “You’re not a patient,” you said.

“No,” he answered.  “Like you, I’m not crazy.”

“Then what are you doing here?  Are you a doctor?”

“I’m Batman.”

And just like that, your last ray of hope vanished.  “………………………………..Oh my god.”

“I know, but I can’t give you a bat-autograph right now,” he said, keeping up that extra-gritty voice.

“My hero.  What’s your plan, then?” you asked out of morbid curiosity.

“I’ve done some digging on that guy.  Here,” he said.

A thick vanilla folder poked out through the grate.  You opened it, and sure enough a picture of your captor was paper clipped to about a ton of reports.  You read along while “Batman” talked (or rather growled).

“His name is Eddie Gluskin, aka ‘The Groom’.  Hobbies include killing women and turning men into women so he can kill them.”

Your hands started shaking.  So that _was_ his name, and he _was_ the man your coworkers were gossiping about.  You’d suspected you might have run into him, but like finding the boogeyman under your bed, seeing what you were dealing with was almost worse than not knowing.

Fear closed in on you like a vice.  Even now, Eddie might change his mind and come at you with a saw.  The victim count on his profile read 13 _before_ he was committed.

“Why?” you asked aloud.

“Why would someone become obsessed with and tortured by sex to the point where they get stabby about it?  Take a guess,” he said.  “It’s all there if you want to read it.  You should look outside.  He has a hanging garden with dozens of his ‘creations’.”

“I… this is all…  Wait a minute,” you said, doing some quick calculations.  “How long have the madmen been running the madhouse?”

“Hrmm…  Few days?  Maybe a week?”

“He can’t kill that many people in a week!”

“I don’t know how he pulled it off either,” he said.  “All I can tell you is there’s a gym full of dead guys with boobs stapled on.”

You shuddered.  You didn’t want to believe it, but it would be beyond stupid to pretend someone as clearly violent and disturbed as Eddie wouldn’t do something so terrible… or that you could fix him.

Batman sensed your disappointment.

“…Not a lot of people know this, but my worst days aren’t when I take a crowbar to the face from Joker,” he whispered.  “My worst days are when I have to deal with people who are trying to fix the world, or just feel accepted by it, but they’re too broken to see the damage they’re doing.”

“Don ‘t you still punch them?”

“That’s beside my bat-point,” he said, a bit vexed.  “Believe me, no one knows how you’re feeling better than I do, but you don’t have a Penguin or a Mad Hatter on your hands.  The Groom is another The Joker.  He isn’t misunderstood, he’s just a killer.”

You exhaled, accepting the fact that Eddie’s story could only end one way, and it wouldn’t be happily.  You gave him a slight nod.

“Right, here’s what we do,” he said.  “Somersault your way passed him and then back-flip through the window and land on—”

“Wait, wait!” you interrupted.  “I can’t do that!  I can’t leave without him!”

 “What?  After all that?!” he said, taken bat-aback.  “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the guy!”

“No, I mean I literally can’t leave.  I can hardly move.”

“Oh.”

“Can you fight him?” you asked, hopeful.

“Sorry, the man’s a gorilla.  I wouldn’t stand a bat-chance like this.  Even at my bat-peak, I’d need all my bat-gadgets to bat-fight and bat-bitch-slap the guy, maybe a bat-boomerang or bat-badguy-repellent or a bat-bat because Batman Batman Batman.”

You waited a couple minutes.  “…Are you stuck?”

“I’m Batman, it’s sort of my thing.  Hrmm, let me think,” he said, and fell silent.  You heard him shuffling around in the vent and flinched at every little noise, worried you’d be caught.  If that happened, Eddie would assume you were having an affair with the caped crusader here.  You’d be killed for sure.

“Handling the deranged is usually like handling a rabid dog; just toss them a bone,” he said.  “Right now he’s very angrily making a white dress.  Is he planning to…?”

You made a face.

“Right.  That’s our bone.  There’s a chapel next to the main exit.  Convince him that’s where you want the ceremony,” he said.  “Escape should be easy from there.”

“Hey, that might work!” you said, elated.

“I’m _Batman_.”

“Uh… thank you,” you said awkwardly.  “What will you do now?”

“Get out of here, get back to the bat-cave,” he replied.  “I’d stay to help, but without my equipment I’m as useless as Robin.”

“That makes two of us,” you admitted.

“No, you’re stronger than you think,” he said.  “You managed to save me, and you don’t even have a cape.  You’re a good man, and you have my bat-thanks.”

More shuffling and he was gone, evidenced by a breeze blowing through the vent.  You shivered and hugged yourself.  With a start you noticed you still hadn't gotten dressed, which meant Bats got a full view… and he called you a man.

Huh.  Maybe he wasn’t too crazy after all.

You looked through the file, but after only a few minutes you’d seen more than you wanted to.  Of course Eddie's childhood had been unbearable.  It explained why he didn’t want oral or anal sex, and why he counted people shoving tubes down his throat as rape.  Poor bastard.

“Darling!” Eddie called.  “Darling, could you come out here for a minute?”

“Coming!” you called back, shoving the folder under your mattress.  Best he not know that you know.  You found your underwear and jumper and put them back on.  You picked up your camera too, just in case.

Walking was getting easier, but it still hurt.  You wobbled towards him.  He was in that room full of sewing machines and holding up—you guessed it—a wedding gown.

“What do you think?” he asked, flashing you his most charming smile.

You thought about the 13 women who were lured to their doom by that smile, and your response was stuck in your throat.  You looked at him.  You looked down at the dress.  Then back to him.  Then you looked for the stairs that brought you down here in the first place.  Could you make it if you sprinted?   Probably not…

“Darling?”

You jumped.  “Wh-what?  Yes!  It’s beautiful!”

“Is something wrong?” he asked, putting down the dress and stepping closer.

You stepped back.  “No!  Everything’s fine!”

He narrowed his eyes.  Standing between you and the nearest dirty window, his shadow encompassed you completely.  “Darling, don’t lie to me,” he warned, and reached into his pocket.

Not another knife!  “W-WAIT!  Look, let’s—I wanted to talk about—” you stuttered.

He took out a roll of measuring tape.  “I’m an artist, but I’m not perfect.  Are you SURE the dress is good enough?  How do you like the ruffles?  I did my best, the fabric won’t cooperate.  Damn, really thought it would turn out better.  These machines are from the stone age!”

You exhaled while he prattled on.  Seemed like he’d already forgotten to be angry with you as he absently measured your hips and waist, but once he got to your chest his expression darkened.

“Darling—” he started.  You stopped him by putting a finger on his lips.

“I’ll agree to the boob job on one condition,” you said.

“Mm-hmm?” he hummed into your hand, raising his eyebrows.

“Let’s get married in the chapel outside.”

He looked torn.  He pulled you into his arms, concern etching his features.  You froze, paralyzed with fright.  “I know it’s your special day, darling, but there are horrible, ugly, jealous women crawling around everywhere!  Remember?  You showed me how they tried to tear you to pieces!”

“Good thing I’ve got my big, strong man to protect me!” you countered.

He grinned.  “Granted, yes, but it’s far away, and you should consider your health.  Your leg…”

You tried pouting and batting your eyes.  “I thought you said you wanted to show the whole world you loved me!”

He tried to object, but he couldn’t come up with a good reason, so he made aggravated noises and waved his hands around for a while.

You wondered if you should be filming this.  “Uh… that’s not an argument, that’s just…”

“I KNOW!” he said.  “I know, just—all right, darling, let’s compromise.  I’ve got a chapel set up here already.  Why don’t we take a look, and if you ABSOLUTELY MUST have OUR wedding somewhere I DIDN’T pour my heart and soul into making PERFECT JUST FOR YOU… maybe we can go to the other one.”

“Great!”  Ha, ha!  Victory!

He held your hands in his larger ones.  “Emphasis on ‘maybe’, darling.  Now, close your eyes.  It’s a surprise.”

You had little choice but to obey.  He picked you up and carried you somewhere down the maze of hallways.  “I caution you though, it is stunning,” he said.  “And you might crush me if it was all for nothing.”

You listened to him and to his heartbeat.  Seeing Eddie Gluskin as just a killer was like trying to see an animal by looking at one of its cells; you really needed the whole picture.  His sense of humor, his tragic past, his genuine moments of gentlemanly kindness…

…Still, at least 13 innocent people…

He put you down in front of a set of ornate double doors.  He gleefully tossed aside one of the metal cages he’d used as a barrier and turned to you.  “Ready?” he asked, and opened the doors.

Before you could see what was inside, he immediately shut them again.  “Darling, run.”

“Buh?” you said.  Then you heard the high-pitched whir of a handsaw.

“Run!” Eddie yelled, grabbing the cage.  Without thinking you went to help push it back in front of the doors, but he shoved you away.  “I SAID _RUN!_ ”

You got to your feet at the same moment the saw blade punched through the wood.  “DINNER BELLS!” cried Frank on the other side.

Eddie stayed to keep the cage in place.  You ran.

At least you tried.  Besides the pain, you had no idea where you were and kept running into locked doors.  Of all the places, you wound up back in Eddie’s workshop, except it was the one for bodies with the big circular table saw, not the one for clothes next to the stairs that lead outside, because the universe hated you.

A few cold fingers from a dangling arm brushed your face.  Startled, you slipped on some blood and landed hard on your side.  You heard heavy footsteps approaching.  You rolled under the table and got ready to bolt, trying to ignore the overpowering smell of iron and the sticky liquid on your hands and feet.

Frank came into view, and he had a fresh coat of red on him.  “Come out, juicy little kitten,” he called playfully.

The arm you ran into was still swinging.  Frank grabbed it and dug in with what you could only describe as ‘lustful hunger’.  Good thing you’d never have to write that sentence.  It would be really weird.

Maybe that was why Eddie had spare parts?  To deal with cannibals?  But where was he?  Surely if Frank got him, he would have stopped to eat, right?

While gorging himself, Frank dropped a few pieces.  He bent over to pick them up, but stopped when he saw you.  “MINE!” he yelled, grabbing you by the hair.

Gritting your teeth and ignoring the pain, you pulled back with all your strength.  He hit his head on the edge of the table, forcing him to let go.  You got out from under it, but there was nowhere to go.  All you saw were body parts and no exit!

Undeterred, Frank advanced on you, licking his lips. You grabbed one of the legs off a hook and threw it behind him, hoping he’d go for it.  He didn’t even give it a passing glance.  His eyes were locked on you, mad with hunger.

Backing away, you grabbed another severed limb and started swinging.  With a few counter-swipes of his blade, Frank cut it down to nothing.  “Look!  I found batteries!” he said, proudly pointing at his saw.  “People just leave them lying around!  Can you believe it?”

Soon he’d cornered you.  You fell to the floor, holding up your hands.  “PLEASE DON’T EAT ME!” you screamed.

“Well if you don’t want me to, stop being so delicious!”

“WHAT?!”

“Your flesh wants to become mine!  I can smell it!”  As he raised his saw to finish you off, Eddie grabbed him from behind and threw him against a beam.

“You come into MY home, ruin MY wedding,” he roared, picking up Frank and throwing him again.  “Fine!  I can forgive you for that!  But then you threaten MY wife?  THAT’S where I’m going to have to DRAW THE LINE!”

Frank stood up and held his weapon in front of him.  “Ooh, you’re a big boy, aren’t ya?” he said.  “I wonder what you taste like.”

“Madam, I am _not_ that kind of man,” Eddie countered, pressing a nearby button and turning on his table saw.

Now THIS you made sure to capture on camera!


End file.
